Flashback: Forever Plaid

This entry is part two in my series of reflections about plays that I have directed, talking about choices I made and things I learned.

In the blistering heat of mid-summer one weekend in 2009, both my parents and I had a nasty stomach flu. Day and night, we lay around the living room—the coolest place in the old non-air-conditioned house—with all the fans on, trying to sleep through as much of it as we could. Man, it was awful. One afternoon, the phone rang. It was HART Theatre out in Hillsboro. I had responded to a notice from them looking for directors for their upcoming season of plays. I was given the second show of the season, Forever Plaid. That phone call turned an otherwise abysmal day of suffering into an abysmal day of suffering with a silver lining. I had been away from theatre since 2001, having gotten a “real” job in retail which, for six years, sucked out my energy and ambition for all creative endeavors. When I quit my job in ’08 and was subsequently unable to find another one (or get back the one I quit which is something I actually wanted), I was at loose ends, flailing in life, directionless, and hopeless. I had no idea that this play—which I really didn’t know much about—would end up being a whole new beginning for me. But that afternoon, I was certainly grateful for something to come into my life.

The first meeting I had at HART was with the two co-artistic directors, Carrie Boatwright and Paula Richmond, along with all the other directors for the season. We all had a notebook full of rules and procedures, and the whole thing—while surely expedient for the ADs—seemed a bit awkward to me. I learned we had to make actors sign in and out of rehearsal, and that no nepotism was allowed. (Gee whiz, what kinda place was this? I did get passed their nepotism rule though; my dad was a huge part of this play, being the voice of the introduction, as well as stage manager.) But it was all right. I was happy to have something to sink my teeth into.

Forever Plaid by Stuart Ross is a musical about a boy band…not the kind of boy band you have now, but the kind they had in the 60s. Not rock and roll, but something of a more barbershop variety. I was completely unfamiliar with this type of music, so I had some research to do. I checked out a bunch of albums from the library of vocal groups from the era. A lot of it was quite dull, but there was some really catchy stuff as well. To this day, I listen to a lot of it that I put on the preshow playlist,  including “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” by the Four Lads, “Italian Street Song” by the Hi-Lo’s and “I Like it Like That” by the Crew Cuts.  I researched old Ed Sullivan Show clips on YouTube to get a sense of some of the entertainment that was popular, both for context, and because there was a whole scene dedicated to emulating an episode of that show.  By the time auditions came around, I still felt woefully unprepared in terms of my familiarity with the period, but I thought I could fake it well enough.

I had only directed one musical in the past…and that show had been an unmitigated disaster (in spite of having some good people involved)!  And regarding this, I didn’t fake it; I was very honest about what I would need to make this thing fly. And fortunately for me, I had an amazing vocal director (Alice Dalrymple) and choreographer (Kate Jahnson) already lined up to do the essential things that I knew I couldn’t do. Like most musicals, Plaid is mostly song and dance, and so the success of this show was mostly theirs, and of course the performers who did such an awesome job.

That last point about performers was a minor miracle though. We had very, very few auditions. All four of the characters were young men, and I think we had six auditioning for us. Three of them were former students of Alice’s, and that’s why they were there. They were cast, not for that reason, but because they were the best singers. And then we just happened to have a guy show up who could sing a bass part. In the end, it was so easy…so little to choose from, yet the perfect cast. There did happen to be one actor I wanted to cast because I had seen him rock an amazing performance in a production of Dog Sees God, and I knew that he was an up-and-coming star in the Portland theatre scene. (I was right too; everybody now knows who this person is.)  But I had to defer to Alice’s expertise in putting the right group of vocalists together, and I don’t regret it at all. (As for this other actor I wanted to cast, I’m quite sure we’ll work together some day.)

Preliminary rehearsals took place a few blocks from the theater in the Pythian building (which I affectionately called the Python). It’s sort of a lodge, like Elks or Masons or Odd Fellows. It’s got that sort of ancient, dark, dank, and haunted feeling about it. You climb up a narrow flight of stairs (which had a broken track along the side for one of those chairs you can ride up and down, like that mean lady from Gremlins had, which was sabotaged and sped her up super fast before tossing her ass out the window) and go through a few rooms that seem to have no purpose, and into a giant carpeted hall with weird shaped wooden tables and podiums all over the place. You feel like you should be wearing a robe and a funny hat, in preparation for some bizarre ritual.

Kate had told me that not every song would require a lot of choreography, so she was going to primarily focus on the ones that were big dance numbers, leaving me to come up with the small flourishes of movement that the rest of the songs required. This terrified me. I mean, terrified. And with good reason. The first song we worked on was “Three Coins in a Fountain”, and I’m thinking to myself, Okay, how can I visually express this? So I had them slowly raise their arms in unison with three fingers indicated to show that, indeed, they meant three coins and not four or five. It was a little embarrassing, but I was surprised by some of the things that I came up with, of course with some help from the cast and even my dad who came up with a smart movement during “Moments to Remember” where they all took pictures of their loved ones from wallets and passed them around.

I had initially intended to attend vocal and dance rehearsals, but after a few, I quickly realized that for the observer who wasn’t participating, it got quite tedious and repetitive. And I realized that I trusted Alice and Kate with what they were doing, so I didn’t need to supervise. I’d have a chance to scrutinize everything later anyway, when we put the pieces together. There may have been a few things that I was dissatisfied with in Kate’s choreography that I may have brought up to be tweaked a bit, but I honestly don’t remember. Mostly I was thrilled beyond measure at the talent and work that both Alice and Kate put in. As director, all I had to do was fill in the pieces in between the numbers. (With a few notable exceptions; for the Ed Sullivan piece, three out of the four actors frantically came on and off the stage several times as various famous acts that appeared on the show, like Señor Wences, Jose Jimenez, and Topo Gigio. This all had to be timed very carefully and blocked in such a way that nobody ran into each other…unless they were supposed to.)  And that was pretty simple to do. I was also able to work with the actors on character analysis a little more than I think you would usually see in a musical like this. I honestly think some directors would not have bothered, but it really added depth and texture to the piece. There was an element of tragedy to this story, and also a lovely portrait of friendship and camaraderie, which was very important to me to capture. I wanted the audience to feel like they knew these characters, apart from the song and dance. And I think they did, thanks to the thoughtful and emotionally open performances of Frank Strauhal, Joe Aicher, Erick Valle, and Leland Redburn.

I don’t remember if Alice was always going to be the accompanist on the show, or if that just happened because we couldn’t find another one. It worked out great though because the relationship was already there between her and the actors, and the piano player is a character in the show, so the familiarity really helped. There is a very amusing moment in the script where Frank introduces the piano player, and he would give her different names on different nights. A couple of the names never made it beyond rehearsal because they caused hysterical laughter which made it hard for the actors to go on with the scene. I regret that audiences never got to hear Alice introduced as Nelly Belly or Blanket Jackson, but it’s probably for the best.

For a long time we were panicking over who was going to be our bass player, another musician who was onstage the whole time. I did know a guy from my former job who played bass, but really didn’t imagine he’d be interested. But I just walked into the store one day and asked him, and he surpassingly said okay. That’s how Chris Ronek and I started what would end up being a fairly frequent creative collaboration over the years; I’ve relied on him not only for his playing, but also composing in other works I’ve done that required original music.  

Forever Plaid is a prop-heavy show, and my dad and I worked with Paula to track down the many, many things the show required: various instruments (maracas, claves, melodica, accordion, hi-hat), puppets, stuffed animals, bamboo sticks, candles, an old school Milk of Magnesia bottle (supplied by my friend Holly Heft), and much more. Many of the items Paula sent out for from another company who had produced the show in the past; most of these props were rather terrible, like the Perry Como cardigan and the fake Plaid albums. We used most of it, but we made our own albums with the help of my friend Michael Stringfield, who also did all the promo shooting for the play. (It was a very good day with the gang, piled up in our van going to various locations like Mt Tabor Park and the Grotto. The guys had their beautiful teal plaid jackets on—which we ordered from another company—and we walked into a Plaid Pantry waiting for someone to comment, but they never did.) The album covers Michael did ranged from classy to campy and hilarious. It was nice getting a comment from Carrie and Paula that we had, in those covers, really captured the essence of this play and its lovable characters.

Another outside talent we had to recruit was Rose Barclay, who showed Leland the art of fire-eating, which was a part of the Sullivan sequence. And on top of that, she gave the guys incredibly authentic period haircuts, which took several hours (glad I also didn’t feel the need to supervise that).

Once rehearsals shifted from the Python to the actual theatre, it was exhilarating to own and occupy that space. I came to love the HART theatre space. I loved the stage, the auditorium, the prop room, the little storage cubby in the lobby, the lobby itself, the kitchen. I loved being there. I felt so alive and at home. In a way, I loved it too much because I wanted to be actively involved in things like lobby decoration, and Carrie and Paula discouraged that. “Just focus on what’s on the stage”, they said, but that’s not the kind of director and creator I am. I ended up going behind their backs and sticking Michael’s art on the lobby walls, and while I got a lecture, they didn’t take it down. The people coming in to see the show were quite fascinated by it.  

The set was fun to conceptualize and to build. I’ve always had a fetish for royal blue and silver, so that was the color palette we used for the backdrops. Four 4x8 flats to make two entrances, in addition to a raised platform with two 4x8 flats as the backdrop, and a beautiful fabric rendering of the title, created by Paula. Behind the platform and off the exits to the sides were the many, many props that were used. There was a lot of coming and going. There was a smoke machine and two bubble machines, one on each side. (Unfortunately, one of the bubble machines—provided by Chris—was quite impressive, putting out a lot of stuff, but we couldn’t find another one like it, and ended up getting a really wimpy one from Party City, and so what was coming from the left side of the stage didn’t match at all what was coming from the right.) There was supposed to be a mirror ball, but our technical director couldn’t get it to work right, so we had to do without.

Prop work and set work became a family project. Dad and I picked up four wooden stools and painted them black; they were an integral part of the show, used mostly during slow numbers. Dad also put together the long-handled plungers that were used in the crowd favorite, “Crazy About You Baby”. My brother Mark was recruited to build the storage area behind the backdrop, so that everything would have a neat place to go. Actually, he also helped build the backdrop. My mother worked on props, like the plaid package that opens for a little Mexican doll to pop out. All in all, I loved the way both family and friends were drawn into this, and I have since longed for that kind of involvement from my creative friends since then, but it’s been mostly elusive.

The unique sense of joy I experienced when doing this show, which has been mostly unsurpassed in my other shows before or since, got the better of me, in that I felt the need to document everything. I decided to make a documentary video about the process, taping bits of vocal warm-ups, interviews with cast and crew, and backstage antics. I hung out backstage a lot, because I just loved the people, and wanted to be in the thick of it. But not everyone was happy with the video or my presence backstage. At least one person was quite uncomfortable with it, and I did not know this until I had already offended the person, and by then it was too late to undo. (Attempts by me to work with this actor again have been unsuccessful.) It was a hard lesson. When you’re a director, you have to have a sense of detachment. You’re not one of the cast. You’re not their “friend”; you’re the director, and it means there are boundaries.

On a happier note, someone got it in their head that we should do a little something extra for the closing matinee audience. We settled upon a performance of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. We went to Frank’s place—then in Beaverton—and they rehearsed the song several times and ran lines. That was a lot of fun, and I did tape most of it. When the show was over on that Sunday, they came out, out of character, and performed the song, which the audience seemed to really think was a nice bonus. It added some “sweet” to the always-bittersweet nature of closing.

In the years following, I tried several times to get Plaid Tidings, the holiday sequel of sorts, produced, but was unsuccessful. I really wanted to bring all the same people back, because that was the magic that made our production so good. But eventually it became clear that they were not all interested in doing it again, so I lost interest. Then recently, I got the opportunity to do it at HART (of all places), and even though I knew I couldn’t get all the same people, I was going to have a go at it anyway. But like before, there were very few people who came to audition, this time too few. Things fell through the cracks, and truthfully, I’m okay with it. Forever Plaid was an amazing experience, and I’m not at all sure that that kind of lightning was meant to strike twice.

Flashback: Minority Status Quo [CCC, 1995]

Today, I begin a new series in which I will discuss shows that I have produced, directed, or written in the past. The purpose is not to revel in nostalgia, but rather talk about the lessons leaned with each production and how those things inform what I do now. These installments will be occasionally tossed in between the regular review segments at irregular intervals. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy going down memory lane with me.

The first play I ever wrote started as bits and pieces of a screenplay I was working on in high school in 1992, which is the year I graduated. That movie script was going to be called The Pioneers (after the name of the OCHS sports team), and it was going to be a topical teenage drama about a lot of different things, from bullying to abortion to being gay and in the closet. Remember, in 1992, some of these things were only just beginning to have a public forum, and there was a lot of politics surrounding such topics, just as there is today, except the details of the struggle differ slightly from back then.

By the time I had taken acting and theatre appreciation classes in college, I had developed a real affection for live theatre. I wanted to write a show that I could produce as a student project as Clackamas Community College where I was getting my transfer degree. I decided to revisit the abandoned Pioneers screenplay and see if I could mine it for some dramatic gold. I'd have to choose just one of the several story lines to focus on. I settled on the story of the closeted gay boy (Martin), and I found a way to work in two of the screenplay's other characters as foils for his self-examination: Zeke Marvel, the outspoken lead singer for a garage band, and Wendy, the leader of the high school Christian club. I asked myself, "What would happen if these three people were locked in a room together and forced to talk for a couple of hours?"

Of course, my problem--which would never actually be resolved--was that there was no good way to force these characters to be together outside of their own will. One early critique of the script went something like: "I cannot make myself believe that these three people would willingly stay in the same room together after hurling insults at each other, having nothing in common, when it would be so easy to just leave." But I did my best to overcome that challenge by setting up a situation where everyone had a reason to want to talk to each other. Martin just needs someone to confide in, and he figures Zeke is the school freak who's got no room to judge anybody. So Martin invites Zeke over. Zeke comes over because he likes to exploit people's dramas for song-writing material. And Wendy comes over, uninvited, because she thinks she can bring the recently-outed Martin to Jesus and ultimately repentance from a sinful lifestyle. So there they are. And they argue. And they fight. And the reconcile. And they have a million reasons for leaving, and a million and one reasons for staying. They hash it out. The text reads a little bit like a political debate between a gay rights activist and a preacher with a little heckling thrown in. It was didactic. But it was such a balanced discussion of the issues, I must say I was pretty pleased with myself by the finished product, which I called Minority Status Quo.

I got the opportunity to direct it as a student project, thanks to newly installed drama chair, David Smith-English, in spring of 1995, which was the last term before I got my Associates Degree. It was an intense whirlwind of a time because I had a LOT going on that term. That was probably one of the busiest times ever for me. I got a mostly great cast, featuring Craig McCarty as Zeke (I had worked with Craig in some projects in acting class the previous year, and he had become a rather big cultural influence in my life, and I think I ended up modeling the character of Zeke partly from the way I saw Craig in my mind) and Jennifer Johnson as Wendy. The central character of Martin was played by Jeffrey Woods, and here's the first lesson I want to talk about from this play. And this is nothing against Woods. He has gone on to become an amazing lighting and set designer, but has mostly left acting behind. He wasn't terrible, but I can see why his strengths were more in technical theatre. I cast him because I simply liked him and wanted to work with him, but his performance as Martin was very low-key and lacked the urgency of the inner turmoil of the character. And I was a new director too, so I didn't know how to draw out a stronger performance. In hindsight, it would have been better for me to look harder for a better match for that character.

Shifting now to some comments on the set, which I think I'm more proud of than anything. The mainstage production at the time was Betty the Yeti. The set for Betty the Yeti was several large mounds of dirt scattered across the small stage. Now, when you're doing a student production, you can usually move some furniture and things from the mainstage to accommodate your needs. You still have to live with the immovable parts of the set (the walls, etc), but it's something you can adjust to pretty easily. Not the case here. We could not move the giant mounds of dirt! So the question became, how do we hide them? Well, fortunately, there was a large area, down center, that had no dirt. I guess it was the primary playing area of Betty. So what we did was took a couple of 2-foot high knee-walls and created a boundary in front of where the dirt began. They were at a 90 degree angle from each other to represent two walls of our set. But because they were only two feet high, we had to do something to suggest the rest of the wall. Of course, this is a high school boy's room, and it's going to want to have posters of favorite bands and movies, etc. But without walls, how do you do it? And I don't remember if it was me or my brilliant lighting/set designer Chris Steffen who came up with this, but we got long narrow strips of 1x4, but the same length as the knee-walls. We attached those to the ceiling and then attached posters through varying lengths of wire to hang down from the boards and create a brilliant wall effect. And because there were two "walls" at a 90 degree angle, it looked very realistic. It didn't matter that there was no tangible wall in between the posters. The posters themselves did the job. (And I want to give a shout out to Chris Steffen, who has gone on to work in all kind of high profile film and TV stuff as a techie.)

I should backtrack a little bit here to talk more about the development process. When you're doing a new work--and especially if the writer and director are the same person--there is a lot of room for flexibility and collaboration and feedback. This process was sometimes challenging (I was thin-skinned and, you know, your works are your babies), but also very productive and rewarding. There were some things that got changed in the process. One my great mentors, the late Barbara Bragg, read an early version of the script, and her response was, "Where's the drama?" In other words, I had plenty of thoughtful and topical content in my dialogue, but none of it was very high stakes. I needed to learn ways to heighten the tension, and also to make it less static. One thing I did was add moments of physical conflict, times when the characters would get so heated that a beverage got tossed in someone's face, a brownie got shoved down someone else's throat, and a role-playing game got out hand and turned into a brawl. One could argue that I over-compensated here, and had more physical stuff than I needed to, but it served the purpose of punctuating the intensity of the conversation.

Another thing I explored was creative movement. I added sort of an expressionist interpretive dance piece where the characters transformed themselves into a lion, a lamb, and a snake. This game helped to bring out the characters' inner prejudices. This was very influential for me, going forward. As a writer, I would continue to explore that kind of experimental aspect, plunked right down in the middle of the ordinary. I also added a celebratory slam dance towards the end of the play when the characters had more or less become simpatico. In the end, these additions may have made the play less realistic, but a lot more interesting to watch.

I learned the value of getting audience feedback. Barbara did something unusual for me with this one. She always made her theatre appreciation class attend and write up the student one acts. She collected a whole bunch of the reviews that students had written and gave them to me to read. It was such a special and rewarding experience because we had an audience of a wide range of different beliefs and philosophies. Some people thought I leaned on the Christian side, others thought I was totally on the gay side, never realizing that both perspectives were from my own life experience. But the really awesome thing is, no matter what people's religious and political leanings were, they loved the play. They thought it was honest and sincere and moving. They did not have to agree with every point of view expressed in order to get something from it.

I've done many productions since that time, but Minority Status Quo will always have a special place in my heart.

Spring television

Don't worry, I'm not going to write an in-depth analysis of every show I watch, but maybe just a brief mention of what I'm watching, and why. And highlight some special ones. A few entries ago, in talking about American Crime, I lamented the fact that we've mostly written off the major networks in favor of the often more challenging, provocative offerings of cable. Then I suggested those generalizations aren't always true. Let's see if that still holds up.

The Family

Just about when American Crime was ending on ABC, The Family was beginning. It is an ensemble drama about an affluent family in Maine whose mom (played by Joan Allen, in a shiver-inducing performance of amazing iceberg frigidity, even in her softest moments) is running for Mayor. Soon her young son Adam gets kidnapped and things are thrown into chaos...but she still wins the mayoral election. Why let a kidnapping stop her? And indeed, the whole family has this same ambitious attitude. Why let the lack of a body stop them from assuming murder and framing the known-pedophile neighbor (played by a surprisingly cast executive producer Andrew McCarthy)? Why continue to look for answers when you can bury your dark secrets in booze, adultery, and repressed self-hating lesbian obsession? 

Okay, I admit this show is a little tawdry. Even the network describes it as "your favorite guilty pleasure." But things take a slight tonal shift when Adam shows up again ten years later. Liam James is nearly unrecognizable from his role in that nostalgic comedy The Way Way Back from a couple years ago. He is also, as it turns out, unrecognizable as the family's lost Adam. Well, who can blame him? He's been stuck in a child molester's forested secret underground dungeon for the last ten years. He's all grown up now, and boy is he dirty! Now his mom is trying to run for Governor, but will this amazing turn of fate cause her to slow down her campaign? Of course not. 

Lots of soap-worthy drama ensues, and many unlikely plot twists. This is not American Crime, folks. But it is fun, in spite of the sideshow dysfunction. Alison Pill delivers what might be the show's strongest performance as a deeply troubled, manipulative, but ultimately dutiful daughter whose primary purpose in life seems to be to "fix things" at whatever cost. Liam James also brings a level of humanity to a family that is otherwise strongly lacking in people to root for. In spite of the sensationalist trappings, The Family is strongest when it focuses on the boy's victim-hood and hopeful recovery. 

As I write this, the show is mid-season. There are surprises that I haven't given away here, and more that I have yet to see. I'll revisit it when it's over. For now, I suggest catching up with it, because it is at least entertaining. 

The Ranch

I never really liked Ashton Kutcher. (Oh sure, he's attractive, and he even is okay in his acting ability, but something about early works like That 70's Show and Dude, Where's My Car? left an indelible impression, and not a positive one.) So why I would set about to watch a ten-episode comedy series on Netflix with him as its main star, I'm not exactly sure. It's probably because the lure of Sam Elliott attracted my parents, and I'm always looking for stuff to watch with them. 

The Ranch is a show about a washed-out football player named Colt (Kutcher) who returns home to live with his crusty, cranky dad, Beau (Elliott) and his uber-heathen brother Rooster (Danny Masterson), where he is subjected to hard ranch work, old flames, familial jealousy, and his own personal demons. By the way, it's a hilarious comedy, complete with distracting laugh track. Two other actors I should mention: Debra Winger as the mom, and Bret Harrison (a Tualatin native who I directed in a play 16 years ago and never tire of reminding people). 

There's really not a whole lot to say about The Ranch, other than the fact that beneath all the insults and depraved humor, there is a tender heart of a family that, in spite of its dysfunction, loves one another...which might be more than you can say for the family of the The Family (above). I suppose if there's one thing I don't really like, it's the Rooster character who is a little too crass and self-absorbed for my taste. I get it--that's what makes him funny. But it's not really my thing. 

Comments on other shows

Blindspot started terrible, but it's gotten better in 2016. The stories, more in depth character development, and the addition of Francois Arnaud to the cast, all contribute to the show's improvement. Major Crimes had a terrible 5-week arc that was tacked on as a season closer; boring and pedantic, I say skip it. Bates Motel had a rocky beginning to its fourth season, but it's gotten better. Norman is a little more crazy, and Norma is a little less so...at least for now. You can't help but root for her marriage to the sheriff. And the romantic union of Emma and Dylan is sweet beyond words, and Max Thieriot retains his status, in my humble estimation, as the most beautiful man on earth (that I'm aware of anyway). Limitless remains one of my favorite shows, also a network show, so less popular. It is funny and innovative, as well as being a nice procedural. I really hope it gets renewed. Bosch Season Two on Amazon Prime is not as engaging nor as accessible as Season One, but actor Titus Welliver makes it well worth the effort. The Real O'Neals is a funny comedy about growing gay in a Catholic household, and it's got the always-wonderful Martha Plimpton and a strong young lead in Noah Galvin. I suppose it may be inevitable to have sacrilegious content when you put Catholicism and homosexuality head to head in a comedy, but I could do without "Slacker Hippy Jesus" popping up in the young protagonist's imagination, an image of Christ that kind of offends my own sensibilities. But no, I'm not lacking in a sense of humor, and that's why I still watch it. I watched the first episode of Game of Silence, which turned out to be a retread of the simple-minded and homophobic film Sleepers, so I won't be watching any more of that. 

Becky's New Car

There’s nothing subtle when you walk into this lobby. There are cars everywhere—model cars on tables, posters of cars on the walls, a real auto enthusiast’s dream. (Come to think of it, I’m surprised my dad didn’t hang out in the lobby for much longer to look at it all.) And then when you walked into the theatre itself, the theme continued. There were “lanes” made of yellow and white tape on the carpet in the aisles. There were road signs on the walls on either side of the audience. And the stage itself completed the picture; even though there were three playing areas to represent a living room, an office, and a back porch, the walls had multiple floating road signs, and the stage was painted as a road, leading from upstage to downstage center. Before you get to your seat, you’re thinking, “Okay, I get it, I get it! This is about cars and roads and destinations.” 

Yes, but only metaphorically, you see.

The auto-themed presentation didn’t stop there though. The soundtrack was full of songs about cars and driving, the best and most relevant of which was Traci Chapman’s 1980’s hit, “Fast Car”, which is actually a slow and sad song. I would give points for “I Drove All Night”, but they didn’t use the gut-wrenching Cyndi Lauper version; I don’t know what version they used.

Becky’s New Car is a relatively recent play by popular playwright Steven Dietz. And it is indeed about journeys and destinations, and stops along the long—or short, depending on your perspective—road of life. It focuses on a seemingly cheerful, middle-aged housewife and mother of a grown son who lives in the basement (hate those slackers). Her job is successful…enough. Her marriage is happy…enough. And yet something in her life is just not…enough. Her husband is distant, her son is entitled, and her job is thankless. When a confused and wealthy man shows her more attention than she’s used to, she takes advantage, unleashing a series of events (both comic and dramatic) that effects the lives of everyone she knows and loves.

This play is a star vehicle for a leading lady, so you’d better have a good one. And HART does in this production. Patti Speight strikes that perfect balance of humor and the restless ennui that propels her title character to make the wrong choices in a late shot at happiness. There isn’t a time when we don’t empathize with what she’s feeling or are unable to understand her actions. Although this dramedy teeters dangerously close to sitcom territory at times, it is saved by Speight’s solid and reliable performance.

And, really, all the performances are strong here. I always have to give a shout out to my friend Paul Roder, who is a character in life and is thus always an interesting one on stage. Finding comedy in a character’s pain and tragedy is not an easy thing to pull off, but Roder takes us to that edge of morbidity without throwing us over. Carl Dalquist’s performance as the wide-eyed son--at first selfish and pretentious, then startled and affected by love—is his best that I’ve seen yet. And Bryan Luttrell, as the widower who mistakes Becky for a widow, is at once quirky, awkward, vulnerable, and intensely likable. And I’ll whisper you a secret: my heart was most with this character.

Most any problems I had were not with the production itself, but with the script. Dietz is a great writer, but it’s hard to strike the delicate balance between comedy and drama. I don’t think he is entirely successful here. And I really dislike plays that require audience interaction when you’re not expecting it. Not only are audience members put on the spot in the position of wondering what the right response should be, but it also takes you out of the world of the story. Breaking the fourth wall is okay, but there are rules that should be adhered to. Either have only one person talk to the audience and be aware of them, or have everyone in on it. This play was consistent with only one fourth wall-breaker (Becky herself) until the final scene. When the husband does it, it throws you off.

Lastly, there was a moment when I thought the play was going to end, with Betty alone in the car, talking to the audience. My personal wish is that it had ended there. It would have been much stronger. But instead, the play lasts about 15 more minutes in order to tie things up in a nice bow, which would be all right if it didn’t represent a turn towards the didactic. Moral ambiguity goes out the window, and Life Lessons are thrust upon us.

She should have just kept on driving. 

10 favorite albums

In these days of iTunes and streaming music, the album has almost become a lost art. Oh, they’re still being released but there’s a feeling that it’s all just an arbitrary grab-bag, and people will take what they want and leave the rest. A song here, and a song there. And that antiquated notion of a “concept album”? Forget about it!  Well, I personally love the construct of an album. In fact, when I write original song lyrics, I often group them into imaginary “albums” and that makes it so much more meaningful to me. Sure, there are usually “duds” on every album, songs that you tend to skip. But at least you have a chance to become acquainted with them before you skip them. There is a beautiful art to how one song can lead into another and guide the thoughts and emotions of the listener, to take them on a journey that they would miss if they only downloaded one or two songs from the collection. So with that in mind, I offer some thoughts on ten of my favorite albums. It’s not really a top ten list, in that favorites have a way of changing, and these will not be presented in any particular order. And there is a lot of great work that will not be included in this list because I can’t write a 100-page blog entry. So this is just a sampling of really good albums, and I hope some of you might consider giving some of them a listen from start to finish.

JOHN MELLENCAMP: LIFE, DEATH, LOVE AND FREEDOM (2009)

As a huge Mellencamp fan from way back, I could have chosen any one of four or five different releases, but the one I’m listening to the most right now is this recording, his first collaboration with roots music icon T Bone Burnett. This marked a turning point for the artist, moving away from rock and towards an eclectic mix of folk, country, blues and Americana. Others that followed this album have not been as strong. The songwriting is exquisite in its melodies, instrumentation, and lyrical themes. It’s pretty downbeat, but that’s nothing new for Mellencamp. There is the dark humor of “John Cockers” about a crotchety old loner: “I used to have some values / now they just make me laugh / I used to think things would work out fine / but they never did do that.” This is followed by “A Ride Back Home”, which is a sad appeal to Jesus to end the singer’s failed earthly life and take him to heaven early. Then you arrive at “Jena”, which is about an actual racist incident that occurred in a Southern town of the same name, and “Mean” which seems to be about the religious right. “County Fair” is a ghost story of sorts, with the protagonist matter-of-factly detailing his final hours on this earth before he is senselessly murdered. Yet in spite of all the morbidity, there are fragments of sweetness and light, as “For the Children” is a kind of blessing bestowed upon the next generation by someone who admits that he doesn’t understand this life at all, but he has hope anyway. And “My Sweet Love” is one of the most catchy love songs you’ll ever hear.

KATE BUSH: THE DREAMING (1982)

Kate Bush blossomed into full musical maturity and creative genius with this trippy album. Before, she was fairly subdued, a shy-sounding teenage girl, in spite of her more animated onstage persona, which reflected a rich dance background. While she could always be described as a wee bit eccentric, this album took that quirk over the edge and took the listeners into flights of fancy that they never could have previously imagined. While not exactly a hit, “Suspended in Gaffa” is one of the most infectious and addictive tunes in her arsenal. She takes you around the world with “Pull Out the Pin”, a mediation on the violence of the Vietnam war from the perspective of the Vietcong. The title song takes you to Australia to witness the Aborigines getting swept off their land by the white man. “Night of the Swallow” is a heart-wrenching plea of a woman trying to keep her over-confident loved one from embarking on a deadly mission. Most captivating of all though is a pairing of songs, “Leave It Open” and “Get Out of My House”, both occupying the end of the two “sides” of the record. They are both ominous and cautionary reflections on the forces we allow to enter into our life, and what we try to keep out. In a way, they almost contradict each other, and at the same time compliment, like two sides of the same coin. The latter track ends in a spectacularly spooky and hysterical fashion, as Kate transforms into a mule. You can’t miss this.

ROBYN HITCHCOCK: EYE (1990)

When Robyn Hitchcock has a band backing him up in the studio (the Soft Boys, the Egyptians, the Venus 3), the songs tend to be very poppy and accessible. Oh, there is still the macabre and surreal imagery that his lyrics are known for, but the music tends to be radio friendly, even if the record labels and radio stations are not friendly back. But when Hitchcock goes solo, we have something very different. The songs tend to be quite stripped down, and consist mostly of an acoustic guitar and his raspy English vocals. The production is not smooth at all; some songs end quite abruptly and in unexpected ways. The lyrics are even more edgy than normal, yet with an insanely dark cackling-clown sense of humor. Take “Executioner” (“I know how Judas felt / but he got paid / I’m doing this for free / just like Live Aid”) or “Aquarium”: (“She says she’s gonna saw her head off / she only does it for attention”). Perhaps one of the most cosmically strange and funny songs of his entire massive oeuvre is “Clean Steve”, which I won’t quote here cos you just have to hear it for yourself. There’s also great tenderness on the album as he exposes his heart in the mortality meditation of “Glass Hotel” and the bitter breakup dirge, “Linctus House.” This is a moody album, and I listen to it when I’m, well, moody. “Should I say it with flowers, or should I say it with nails?” – “Linctus House”

HOWIE DAY: STOP ALL THE WORLD NOW (2003)

The original title was going to be From a Northern Sky, which would have been a much stronger title, and very evocative. Several songs would have hinted back to it in their lyrics. But that’s a small matter. Day has said he was influenced by Jeff Buckley on this album, and I can see that, although I find Day’s music to be more accessible than Buckley’s, and no less dramatic or well crafted. This is an artist who wears his heart on his sleeve, and that’s probably why I love him so much. Every track is infused with an intensity of emotion, as if the survival of the world itself hinged on whatever he’s singing about (which, incidentally, is usually love). Maybe that explains the album title. “Brace Yourself” is a warning to potential romantic interests, as if to say, “When I fall in love, I become a powerful and unpredictable force of nature”. There’s an earnestness in these songs that confronts the dangers of love and passion, as well as the beauty and tenderness. Arguably, the most powerful song on the album is “End of Our Days”, which was featured prominently in the 2006 documentary The Bridge, about the world’s most popular place to commit suicide, the Golden Gate Bridge. While I don’t think suicide is actually the subject of the song, there is such a depth to the feeling expressed in both words and melody that the filmmakers obviously thought it had the gravitas to capture the film’s dark tone, which actually featured live footage of real people jumping to their deaths.

THE WHITE STRIPES: ICKY THUMP (2007)

Jack White and his cohort Meg White (not siblings, but formerly married) made their blues-rock fusion mark on the world with six studio albums in eight years. Then they wrapped it all up with a Canadian tour and accompanying film (Under Great White Northern Lights, excellent, by the way) and then went their separate ways. My opinion, which I think is a rare one among fans, is that they got better with each album. Their first one was the worst one, and their last one, Icky Thump, was the best. I first heard the title track in my friend Holly’s car, riding home from film school one night, and it was revelatory. There are many guitarists I admire, but the authority and confidence with which Jack played on this song struck me like a bolt of lightning. And then you add the in-your-face lyrics: “White Americans, what? Nothing better to do? Why don’t you kick yourself out – you’re an immigrant too.” Just…wow. The rest of the album follows almost as strongly as that opener. The searing “300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues” lets us into one of those uncomfortable relationship conversations that we all have, and between verses, breaks out into brain-piercing guitar noise that sounds like people playing with assorted saws to punctuate the emotional intensity of the proceedings. “Prickly Thorn, but Sweetly Worn” has Jack experimenting with bagpipes, much the same way he played with marimba in the previous album. There’s a slight lag in the second half, but the record closes with a light-hearted exhortation towards taking ownership and personal responsibility (“Effect and Cause”). I hate that The White Stripes had to end it, but since they did, it’s wonderful they did so on this high note.

DIRE STRAITS: LOVE OVER GOLD (1982)

This is for people who love the guitar and love storytelling. In its five long tracks (one of them nearly 15 minutes in length), we get a lot of both. These are what Mark Knopfler traffic in. Stories of love (mostly lost), stories of corruption, stories of locations in time(s). You take it all in with Knopfler propelling you through the songs in long instrumental sessions both gentle and fierce. It’s always beautiful though, and the 3-minute guitar solo that closes “It Never Rains” is my favorite guitar solo, period.

BILLY JOEL: SONGS IN THE ATTIC (1981)

Before Joel hit it big in 1977 with The Stranger, he recorded four lackluster albums with not a lot of artistic control over the proceedings. He wrote the songs, of course, and sang and played piano, but the production and musicianship by the hired guns were not up to the level of Joel’s songwriting craft. So, in the early 80’s, he released one of the only live albums I actually like, an album that takes the best material from those early works and revitalizes it in a live setting. The result is a stunning revelation of just how good a songwriter he was to begin with, and the potential that those songs had. The most staggering example of this improvement is “Captain Jack”, the cautionary tale of young restlessness (and recklessness) and drug addiction. This was actually released in its original version in 1973 and was a hit; that was the version that was later put on the Greatest Hits compilation. But the Attic version is infinitely better; when he launches into the final chorus, the anger is palpable, and if you think Billy Joel is a bubblegum artist with nothing to say, you’ll never feel that way again. Other standout tracks are “Streetlife Serenader” and “Summer, Highland Falls.” These are thoughtful, meditative, reflective tracks that were written and recorded before Joel became a hit-making machine. Their place is in our hearts, rather than on the charts.

FLEETWOOD MAC: TUSK (1979)

You may wonder what was going through the mind of singer/songwriter/guitarist/producer Lindsey Buckingham when he steered the band on this sharp left turn from their mega-hit breakthrough Rumours from 1977. Tusk is nothing like Rumours, not in the slightest. It was a commercial failure and disappointment at the time, but now it enjoys a unique following as something of a cult favorite. Like most Mac albums with this particular lineup, it features contributions from Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie as well as Buckingham. But Buckingham dominates with the lion’s share of the songs on this double-album, and the songs are…well…different. I don’t know what he was listening to at the time, but it wasn’t Mac contemporaries like the Eagles! The songs are wild and frenetic and sometimes rather incomprehensible. Nicks does her usual heart-pouring therapy sessions, but really takes it up a notch on the epic “Sara”. She also contributes the most hard-edged and mysterious track on the album, “Sisters of the Moon”, which is the band as close as it gets to hard rock. (I can imagine a heavy metal cover of this, it would be great.) And for McVie’s part, while she is sometimes the weakest link, her songs of love and romantic passion are enough to make the heart melt. She is at her best of this album.

SUZANNE VEGA: DAYS OF OPEN HAND (1990)

This album was sort of a transition between the soft folk of her 80’s offerings and the more electronic-oriented music that would come later. What is really compelling about this album is how introspective the songs are. And many of them, I can relate to on a deeply personal level. Take the opener: “Oh Mom, I wonder when I’ll be waking. It’s just that there’s so much to do and I’m tired of sleeping.” Two songs later, on “Rusted Pipe”, she sings of tentative beginnings: “Now the time has come to speak. I was not able. And water through a rusted pipe could make the sense that I do.” She runs a gamut of human experience, from dreaming (“Book of Dreams”) to civic duty (“Institution Green”) to the complex nature of communication (“Big Space”) to a harrowing medical crisis (“50/50 Chance”) and finally the long spiritual journey that is life itself (“Pilgrimage”). Many times, I have made mix tapes to express who I am, and at least one song from this album would usually be included. Many times, I’ve felt like “I could have written this!”

U2: THE UNFORGETTABLE FIRE (1984)

This is a unique collection of songs that were largely inspired by a visit to a peace museum, and witnessing its various displays. So you have two songs about Martin Luther King Jr (actually the weakest tracks on the album, not because of their subject but because of less imaginative musical choices). You have love songs set in the backdrop of nuclear devastation, after a series of paintings made by survivors from the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. (The band actually took the name for the album from that painting exhibit.) There’s a song about the decline of Elvis and, in a larger sense, of America. There are two songs about drug addiction in Dublin. And there is a really sweet love song, one of my all-time favorites that I want played at my wedding (if I ever have one), “Promenade”. All this may not sound very enticing, but it’s the music that really shines here, as it captures this mixture of very serious and dramatic topics. One thing that stands out much more than usual is Adam Clayton’s bass, throbbing underneath Edge’s melodic guitar rhythms and unusual frenetic outbursts. Bono sings with his usual solemnity, but here it doesn’t come across as pretentious or preachy like it does on, say, The Joshua Tree. You hear the heart of a man weeping for humanity’s suffering, and there’s a universality to it that is unmatched on any other U2 album in spite of such specific subject matter. The highpoint is the title track, which ends with a lovely orchestral coda that will leave you breathless, speechless, or both. And by the way, the video that was made for that song is my absolute favorite music video ever. It’s as powerful as the song itself. 

American Crime (season two)

I’m not sure at exactly what point cable networks took over episodic television, but ever since, it’s been nearly impossible for the old giants to reclaim their viewership. Why watch ABC, NBC, or CBS when you’ve got Game of Thrones on HBO, House of Cards on Netflix, Fargo on FX, Bates Motel on A&E? (BTW, mentioning those shows doesn’t mean I watch them all.) But this winter, something truly exceptional, one of the best things I’ve ever seen in my 42 years on planet, aired, and it was on ABC. It was called American Crime, and you most likely missed it.

To be specific, it was season 2 that aired this winter. Like Fargo, and American Horror Story (I hear), this show is completely different every season. Not only a new story, but all new characters, although some are played by actors who were also in the first season. You could call it “repertory TV drama”. It was created by the writer of the Academy Award winning film, 12 Years a Slave, John Ridley, who also wrote and directed a number of the episodes, along with other A-listers like Kimberly Peirce (Boys Don’t Cry) and Gregg Araki (Mysterious Skin). And one final technical note, this is not the docudrama about OJ Simpson; that show is called American Crime Story. So just to get it straight, there’s no “Story” in the title of what I’m writing about here.

American Crime has two Indiana high schools as its backdrop. One is an elite private school, run by the cold and calculating Leslie Graham, played with supreme subtly by Felicity Huffman. The other is a somewhat run-down budget-poor public school, where there are constant tensions between the black and Hispanic populations. Chris Dixon (Elvis Nolasto, in what is truly one of the most sympathetic adult portrayals in this story) tries to keep things functioning and keep a lid on the tensions, which turns out to be a thankless and impossible task.

A scandal breaks out at the private school. Social outcast Taylor Blain (played by Falling Skies alum, Connor Jessup) shows up at a party, hosted by the captain of the basketball team. There, he has a sexual encounter with Eric Tanner (Joey Pollari), another member of the basketball team. Throughout the show, the exact nature and details of this encounter are never revealed, but in the next few days, photos of a passed-out and half naked Taylor are spread across the school, and Taylor will confess to his mom (the always-incredible Lili Taylor) that he was raped. Eric meanwhile is outed at his school, partially shunned, and completely denies that he did anything that Taylor didn’t want.

It’s necessary for me to take a moment to praise these two young actors, Jessup and Pollari, because while the show is full of extraordinary performances all around, it is these two that do the majority of the heavy lifting and are responsible for driving that emotional stake into the heart of the viewer. Here are two young, confused gay kids, living in a small town America that is much less accepting than you might imagine in 2016. Taylor is shy, sensitive, and under-stated. As his troubles get deeper and deeper, he withdraws further into himself, until he reaches a breaking point.  Eric is a young man who wants to project a very tough masculine exterior, and it gets harder and harder as the pressure mounts throughout the series. Taylor has a hard time expressing his thoughts and feelings, and yet in his pauses, you can see the painful truth in his eyes. I’m reminded of that song, “you say it best when you say nothing at all.” A lot of actors of any age have a hard time communicating their characters like this, and that’s why Connor Jessup is so amazing here. And look, his character is no angel, which becomes more apparent as the show progresses, but you love him and want to protect him as much as his mother does because of the empathy that Jessup creates for Taylor. It becomes a high stakes proposition for the viewer, as you rush to the television set every week to see what happens. You almost pray that everything works out okay, even though you know it’s fiction. As for Pollari, his smoldering portrayal of the angry-but-damaged Eric will make you almost as concerned for him as for Taylor…almost. He is like a caged animal, imprisoned by his anger and his recklessness. He does things that could get him killed. Pollari expertly finds the balance between the macho that Eric so wants to be and the deep wounded vulnerability that is his true heart.

Huffman’s private school headmaster only wants to bury the scandal and does everything in her power to silence the Blains, with devastating results. The basketball coach, played by Timothy Hutton (who is somehow always likable, no matter what character he’s playing) just wants to protect his team and preserve the notion of camaraderie, which means burying his head in the sand. Unlike the Huffman character, Hutton’s coach is almost always a man of good intentions, but they don’t get him very far because the good intentions are not matched with genuine courage and strength of character. And indeed, one of the themes of season two of American Crime is how children suffer at the hands of adults (their parents, teachers, so-called role models) who care more about their own institutions than about people. And in many cases, parents care only for their own kids, and are willing to throw other children under the bus to protect theirs.

One primary example is the LaCroix family, an affluent black community pillar, the youngest of whom, Kevin, is the basketball team’s captain. His parents witness the community falling apart around them over this scandal, and their only thought is to protect their son, no matter what his involvement in the incident might be. One especially noteworthy performance is by Regina King, as mother Terri, who is like a lioness, protecting her cub…And yet, at the same time, Terri experiences a real character evolution during these ten episodes. She goes from scolding her son for letting Eric take the winning basket in a game and railing against Taylor’s mom, blaming her for all the town’s troubles to taking ownership of her own mistakes, and urging her husband and son to do the same. It’s an incredibly strong performance, which—like Jessop’s and Pollari’s—should be nominated for an Emmy.

Meanwhile, back at the public school, as I said before, black kids and Hispanic kids seem to be hating on each other, and the school board, which is a multi-ethnic conglomerate, just like the school itself, has the so-called adults exploiting the tensions to jockey for power and position, and the sad-sack black principle is getting railroaded amid accusations of racism against the Hispanics. Where education and politics converge, politics will always win out. There are some connections between the goings-on at this school and the more central private school storyline. Eric’s less promising younger brother goes here, and Taylor transfers here from the private school after the rape.

I’m about to go into spoiler territory, so if you want to watch this and don’t want anything more given away, you should not read past this paragraph. My comments above barely scratch the surface of why this is a vital program that I think everyone should watch, even if they think it’s not necessarily their cup of tea. Like so few other programs, it reveals the real complexity of human nature, where nobody is good, and nobody is evil. Everyone has real and difficult issues that they deal with. It’s like that Facebook meme you see one in a while, I’ll try to paraphrase it: “Don’t judge people too quickly, because everyone is fighting a secret battle that you know nothing about.” Okay, I think I butchered that, but you get the idea. There are so many twists and turns and surprises. There is so much that is fresh and innovative here. If there were more things like this produced, I might not feel the need to be an artist myself. The need derives (possibly, one theory anyway) from a sense of something lacking out there. This is what art should be. This is what you should be watching. Trust Uncle Matt.

Okay, spoilers…not just for the sake of plot reveals, but the necessary discussion that must follow. For Taylor Blain, when it rains, it pours. Like many victims of sexual assault (and one of the things you learn is that male on male rape is much more common than you think), he just wants to put it behind him. But then there are the viral photos. Then his mom pursues justice, even when he’d rather she not. For her trouble, her past with mental illness is brought to light. Taylor loses his girlfriend when he’s outed as gay, which is a big deal simply because he needs moral support, and her anger prevents her from being there for him. Taylor gets the shit beat out of him for damaging the reputation of the prized basketball team. Taylor takes drugs to ease the pain. Taylor borrows a gun from his grandfather, and takes it to school with a hit list full of people, the top of which is Leslie Graham, the headmaster, who has done nothing but try to demonize him and his mother from the start. A compassionate secretary talks him down without even realizing it, but as Taylor is leaving the school, having committed no violence, he’s confronted and threatened by one of the jocks who beat him up. “If you say anything, I’ll kill you!” says Wes the jock. In a moment of panic, Taylor sees to it that Wes is the one that ends up dead.

Of the many, many hot-button issues that this show addresses, none is more relevant than the issue of school shootings. And while there have been many shows and films and even plays—I wrote one myself—that deal with this important subject, the approach taken here is somewhat different from what we’ve seen. In the first place, the shooting was not the premeditated one that Taylor had in mind when he came to school that day. It happened in a moment of shock and could therefore be described almost as accidental, which is why Taylor is charged with manslaughter and not murder. Add to that, the sympathetic nature of Taylor’s character and situation, and the fact that the bully Wes—while not deserving to die—was a truer villain than Taylor throughout most of the show. It’s very bold and unprecedented that a work of fiction would generate sympathy for a school shooter, but it goes back to what I said before about how complicated people are and life in general, and the situations we find ourselves in, our private battles that other people don’t know about. Some might not want a school shooter to be cast in anything but the most monstrous light because the problem is so pervasive in our society. Is it dangerous to try to understand the monster’s point of view? Or, even worse, to show that he isn’t even a monster at all?

I was bullied mercilessly in junior high. The late 80s was a time before Columbine, and when I wrote my imaginary hit list, and had to pass it forward to my math teacher who read it aloud, I was not suspended or even given a talking-to. I was not taken seriously. And truth be told, I wasn’t serious; it was a “cry for help”, as they say, but it fell on deaf ears. And so many years later, even with what we know now, there are many with willfully deaf ears and blind eyes. When everybody looks out for number one, they forget that the ostracized kid they’re ignoring might be the one who can tear their precious world apart.

This ten-episode story was deliberately devoid of resolutions. Taylor is given a chance to make a plea deal to lessen his sentence, but we don’t find out if he does so. Eric is seen about to jump into another stranger’s car for an anonymous hookup, which has proven to be dangerous in the past, but he takes a pause, wondering if he really wants to go through with it. We don’t know what happens. We don’t find out the truth about the night that changed Eric and Taylor’s lives forever, but we do know they both believe their own accounts of what happened. We can draw our own conclusions.  

Blasted

The truth is, I’m not easily shocked. At least not in terms of what’s on the stage or screen. I may be disturbed by something; that’s different. I’m an emotional guy, full of empathy and compassion, so it is possible to move me. And that’s what I found with Defunkt Theatre’s production of Sarah Kane’s first pivotal play, Blasted: I was moved, but I wasn’t shocked.

Not that it’s important to be. It’s just that I read a lot of material about the play before seeing it, and I also was familiar with Kane’s pitch black dramatic suicide note, 4.48 Psychosis, which Defunkt staged a few years ago, all leading me to think I was going to get a real gut punch, which did not exactly happen for me. Maybe it’s because of my own dark imagination, or things I’ve already produced myself (Sam Shepard’s Curse of the Starving Class and Prince Gomovilas’ adaptation of Scott Heim’s novel, Mysterious Skin, both feature the same kind of dark and gritty realism as Kane’s play). And yet, even though I was completely prepared for everything I saw, it was nonetheless a very powerful show.

What I don’t want to do here is reveal much of what happens in the story, because I think that’s what nearly spoiled it for me. The reviews told me everything that happens, as if they thought audiences needed a very detailed and specific warning. This was a real disservice. Suffice to say, it isn’t for the faint of heart. But that’s all. Let me let you discover it for yourself.

However, here’s some non-spoiler stuff about the plot:  Basically, a man and a woman who have a history together but are not particularly simpatico, get a hotel room for the night. They quarrel over a number of issues, mainly sex and the man’s raving bigotry and paranoia. The man is dying, and the woman seems to have a disorder that involves fits of laughter, followed by fainting. There is some abuse that takes place. And yet, the man (he has a name—Ian—and he’s played by a very capable and committed Matt Smith) is more pathetic than villainous. He suffers painfully in the face of the ticking clock of his mortality. It seems like he’s trying to do more than satisfy his various cravings (gin, cigarettes, food and sex); there’s a sense that he wants to preserve his dignity, and yet his lusts seem to thwart this effort every time. The woman (Cate, played by Elizabeth Parker as both childlike and full of mystery), for her part, waffles back and forth from genuine affection and interest for Ian, to disgust and contempt.

And then something unexpected happens. Suddenly we find out we’re in a war zone, and the hotel room become like its own corner of hell, and the crazy soldier who shows up unannounced proves, in his demonic cruelty, to fit right in.

That’s all the story I’m going to share. This production makes maximum use of excellent lighting and sound designs (by Cassie Skauge and Gordon Romei, respectively) to create the feeling of menace that permeates the proceedings. During the blackouts, it’s really black. You can’t see a thing. But you hear this most ominous sounding rainfall, like it’s nails pouring out of the sky, instead of water. And when the lights come back up (after not too long, I might add), the stage is dramatically changed, and you really do wonder how did they do that?

As usual, I sat in the front row, and everything felt so much more real and palpable than you necessarily want it to in a show like this. I got Ian’s bare ass staring at me just a couple feet away. When I heard him coughing and wheezing from his terminal condition, I actually wanted to move to the back of the theatre because I felt worried I might catch something, even though the rational part of my brain knew this was just a sick character. I actually don’t recommend sitting in the front row, but rather up some levels because the risers still allow for good sightlines, and my view of certain key moments was blocked because I had a big center-stage bed in front of me.

On an entirely personal note, part of my trepidation in seeing this play has to do with knowing the story of playwright Sarah Kane, who was brought up in a devout Christian household, only to abandon her faith later in life. As a Christian man, it makes sense to me that a loss of faith would be followed by spiraling despair. She attributed the violent content of Blasted, in part, to the violence of the Bible, and while I whole-heartedly admit that the Bible has a great deal of brutality in its pages, I could not really see the connection between the violence found in the scriptures, and the events unfolding in this play.

But back to the pertinent discussion of this play. Bottom line:  Defunkt Theatre has taken a very challenging work and has run with it, fully committed, nothing halfway, no holds barred, complete honesty and integrity in every aspect of the production. But this is their MO; this is what they do. This is why they’ve become a nationally renowned theatre company, known for its boldness and powerful work. If they can take a play like this, which is about as rife with challenges and obstacles as you can get, and do it so expertly, one wonders if they can do wrong at all.